


Out of the Ordinary

by Oxsix



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Character death that isn't permanent, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mutants, They die but like, They get better, sort of in the vein of x men, superpower au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxsix/pseuds/Oxsix
Summary: Katherine Howard fears for her life. Catherine of Aragon has already lost hers. Jane Seymour is dead, until she isn't.Catherine Parr is trying to stay in control of her life. Anna of Cleves wants to lose control of hers. Anne Boleyn doesn't think she's ever been in control, in hindsight.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	1. Prologue: The Phoenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another multichapter AU I've been planning, it should be updated slowly for now, but will be more frequent once I've finished Bump in the Night.

> _"What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air."_

_― Thomas Bailey Aldrich_

Against all odds, Jane Seymour woke up. At first glance, this may not seem like a particularly extraordinary event. Most people tend to wake up every day, or at least most days—provided something isn't horribly wrong. But, in this case, it was quite inexplicable. 

Because Jane Seymour was dead.

Or at least, she had _been_ dead. She was sure of it. She remembered it vividly, now that she thought about it. Her head ached so badly she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't dead still. Scenes played out in her mind, of what had happened in her final moments. Not so final, apparently.

She wheezed a shaky breath, coughing up what might have been blood. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, but at least they were working. Which, by all accounts, they really shouldn't have been. She distinctly remembered a knife becoming rather closely acquainted with her throat. She winced. Her hands moved shakily to her neck, only to find it perfectly smooth. Which was how it typically tended to be. No marks, nor wounds. 

She took a moment to assess her situation. She was alive, for some reason. Her whole body felt rather cold, but it _felt, _and that was more important. Tentatively, she felt around her body. The ground beneath her—she was on the ground—was cold, and slightly damp. It was blanketed with pine needles. She listened carefully, and heard the sound of birdsong. 

So she was in a forest. Should she open her eyes? Probably. She resolved to do so, cautiously. Slowly, her eyelids eased apart. The brightness was overwhelming, but she knew she needed to give her eyes the time to adjust. Her muscles were protesting as she tried to move. She could forgive her body being a little sluggish; it _had_ recently been dead.

And so, with great difficulty and determination, she pulled her body up from the floor, to glance around her surroundings. 

Yep. Just a forest. An unfamiliar one. Not that she would have been able to recognise a forest she had visited before, anyway. They generally looked the same, as far as she was concerned.

She stood, on wobbly legs. How had she got here? Someone must have dumped the body. Probably not expecting it to get up and start walking around again. Somebody had wanted her dead; but what for? The petty squabbles of middle class society could be savage, but she didn't think she'd made any enemies who would have genuinely wished her dead. She wasn't involved in much else, as sad as that may seem.

But, more importantly, she wasn't sure how she was still alive at all. It made no sense; not that she was complaining. She just couldn't figure out why. This had never happened before, obviously. She was pretty sure she would recall having died. It's the sort of thing that sticks in one's mind.

But then—thinking about it. She _had_ come fairly close, once. 9 years ago, when she'd given birth to her son. She'd been out of it for a while before she'd recovered. Perhaps her miracle recovery had been a bit more of a miracle than the doctors had thought. 

Her son. He would be alone without her. Was he safe? There would be nobody there to take care of him; what if he was taken away? 

No. No, she had to find him. She had to. He was in danger. Henry, too. If someone had it out for her, they wouldn't be safe by association. She had to get back to them; to warn them.

Henry worked with mutants. People with apparently supernatural or inhuman abilities. Things like flight, inhuman speed, controlling fire. _Coming back from the dead. _Perhaps he would know what all of this was about? It was the only lead she had. 

Did this mean she was one of them?

It must. There wasn't any other explanation for what had just happened. And that explained Henry's odd behaviour of late—did he know what Jane was? Did he think Edward could have inherited it from her? Had he? She needed to get back to them. Henry would know what to do—he always did. He'd keep them safe, and they would figure it out together. They would work out who could possibly have done this to her, and why. 

Jane felt odd. She was starting to view her entire life in a very different light. Her mind was reeling, but she had to refocus it. She was lost in the middle of the woods, probably presumed dead; she had no clue how long she'd been deceased. She needed to find her way home. Or, at the very least, back to civilisation. She wasn't sure why, but she had the awful sinking sensation that Edward was in danger. She was concerned for both her husband and her son—but for some odd reason she felt no fear on Henry's behalf.

In fact, even thinking of him made her feel odd. Why might that be? She loved him, of that she was certain. So why did the thought of him make her feel uneasy? Like there was some part of her that was fighting back against the idea of him. An idea that seemed to pervade and cloud her mind. She missed him. The odd feeling was slowly beginning to fade. She remembered some parts of her last moments. She remembered realising there was someone there who shouldn't be. Calling for his help. He hadn't come. He would never have let something happen to her, though. 

Someone must have stopped him. He could be in more danger. And that meant Edward was in trouble, too. She needed to get back. She needed to protect them both. Determination spurred her on, and she forgot about the all-encompassing pain in her still-recovering body.

Slowly, but purposefully, she began to walk. She listened carefully, and over the rustling of the wind through the dry autumn leave of the trees, and the lilting birdsong, she heard another sound. The distant drone of what might be a motorway. Or at least, some kind of road. She made her way towards it, at her own pace. She only hoped she'd find herself somewhere safe to stay before the sun went down; the nights were cold at this time of year.

The cold might not be able to kill her, but she'd rather avoid the discomfort all the same.


	2. Self-control

> _ "He liked to like people, therefore people liked him."_
> 
> _—Mark Twain_

During her childhood, Anna of Cleves had developed the rather useful ability of being able to make anyone do, and even believe, anything she asked them to. It had first manifested when she'd started school, and had politely asked the teacher if she could perhaps go home, as she had decided she didn't like it there. The teacher, completely unfazed, had given her permission, allowing her to walk straight out of the school gates, and home to her bewildered parents.

Needless to say, it certainly wasn't the kind of ability best kept in the hands of an over-enthusiastic child. But after reaching adolescence Anna had quickly learned to place boundaries on her usage. It was the sort of power wished for on a monkey's paw, only to backfire, making life meaningless when one can simply ask for anything they desire. 

Anna never saw it this way. Though, she did see it as a kind of curse, in it's way. She didn't like to use her ability. It didn't feel right. It wasn't _fair_. It wasn't fair to control another person like that. 

It wasn't fair to the people she used it on; they would lose their own agency, and had no choice in the matter. They couldn't refuse, and it filled Anna with guilt. And so she'd put an awful lot of effort into learning to control her power; and not to let it control her. That was how she liked to think about it—she controlled herself, instead of controlling others.

She was sure there were many people out there who would love to have her abilities; who would utilise it at any opportunity. But if she used her powers at the slightest sign of struggle, what kind of person would she be? Not someone she aspired to, that she knew for certain. If there were other people with powers like hers, Anna supposed they might be politicians, or celebrities, or other people in positions of power. That would explain why some public figures managed to maintain their success no matter how tarnished their reputation became.

Instead, Anna monitored herself at all times, always making sure she didn't say the wrong thing with the wrong tone and inadvertently make someone do something they wouldn't have done of their own accord. Thanks to this, persuading people through regular means became rather difficult. She constantly had to keep her emotions and intentions in check, because if she didn't keep a careful handle on her power, she could find herself winning an argument through unconventional and undesirable means.

That only worsened the way her ability would hang over her at all times; looming. When things grew difficult, that thought would always creep in. That awful thought. How easy it would be. Just to make things go her way. She shouldn't do it, and she wouldn't do it.

But she _could._

She never did. At least, never for her own gain. She only used her power to help. She assured people of their worth, gave them the encouragement they might not be getting elsewhere so that they could get through their day. And they'd find themselves agreeing with her, believing that they might be worth something after all.

Sometimes, she would catch someone doing something they shouldn't, and she would tell them, voice firm and inarguable, to stop. She felt guilt for this, too, sometimes. But she limited herself to helpful acts. 

She had talked numerous people down from the ledge; she'd grown rather adept at recognising the look in their eyes. And she knew just how to give those people that extra little lift they needed to wait—to hold out for just that one little moment longer. That one little moment that could be all it took for the feeling to fade, to give a person another chance to evaluate their life and find the worth in themselves.

She had told a man to leave the young girl he had been leering at on the train alone, and to never, ever do it again. And, as far as she knew, he never had. She'd averted a significant amount of harm, over the years. But she still couldn't assure herself of her own worth.

Because there was another thought that came along with her talent. This one was more personally painful. It told her she was utterly useless. That she'd be nothing without her power. That she'd never really achieved anything in her life. That she'd never actually learned to control her power. Every job interview, every relationship. All fake. Just constructed by her ability. She was nothing; her power made up everything she was.

This was the one that kept her awake at night. Because she could control what she did with her power, but she could not control how she though about herself. She couldn't control the voice that pervaded her mind at night, telling her she was nothing without her ability; that she was barely a person. _Impostor._

And so, she had developed a tendency to distract herself. She went out a lot, lived a high-flying lifestyle. Went to exclusive parties, met new people, and had a good time. She drank, and she danced, and she laughed. She would bury her insecurities with some new lover; always careful, though. She never slept with anyone when she was drunk. She couldn't trust her control like that, so she avoided it altogether.

Tonight was one of those nights, or rather, it was the end of one. So Anna was stumbling, slightly tipsy, from one of London's more exclusive clubs, in one of her nicer fur coats (faux fur, of course). It was a vivid vermilion in colour, and, despite being cropped, it was keeping her fairly warm against the cold night air.

She stopped, just outside, to take stock of her surroundings, before setting off in the direction of her flat. The walk would help to clear her head and hopefully prevent her impending hangover the next morning. There was a light drizzle, but she was drunk and tired enough that she could simply ignore it.

It was quiet, outside of the distant thumping of music, the rowdy singing of roaming bands of drunks, and the sound of traffic. So, not that quiet at all, in fact. Still, the sound of her own footsteps echoed about the streets. It was almost eerie, but Anna knew she didn't have much to fear from any regular attacker.

Speaking of which, as she turned a corner onto a smaller road, she noticed a man not far behind her. He was travelling at a similar pace, and was just a little too close for Anna's comfort. She opted to wait before taking any action; she was coming up to another corner anyway, and would wait to see if he followed her again. 

She let out a long breath, watching the cloud of it's shape bellow and dissipate in the cold night air. Her head felt a little fuzzy, but the bracing temperature was helping to clear it. She came up to the next crossroads, and turned left, not far from her apartment now. 

The man took the same turn, and Anna noticed he was a little closer behind than he had been last time. His paced had quickened. Without looking back at him, she spoke into the night.

"Turn around. Go home." Her voice was quiet, but level, and without emotion. It was instruction, and not one that could be ignored.

Sure enough, Anna heard the sound of his footsteps grow more and more distant as she carried onward, at her normal pace, in the direction of her home.

She shuddered, a little. It was some combination of the cold weather and the man's behaviour. As much as she knew she herself could avoid trouble from people like that, it wasn't possible for everyone. She was lucky, in that sense. Her power made it hard for her to get in trouble. Mutants tended to be looked at with a lot of scrutiny, but that differed depending on the nature of their abilities. Some were regarded with a lot of suspicion, or outright fear, while others—like Anna—could avoid notice altogether.

Still, she tried to be careful. She could easily be caught out if the wrong person noticed someone acting out of character, after being given direct instructions by her. She had to be mindful of who was around her, and on her own phrasing. The wrong word in the wrong place could bring a lot of trouble down on her.

It was a lot to have riding on your shoulders, really. _Complete and total control over other people_. She knew there were a number of people out there would would kill for that ability. Who _had_ quite literally killed people for control. Anna wasn't that kind of person. She could do more with her ability, if she wanted. But the thought made her feel ill. There was too much to worry about. Because where did she draw the line? How much control over another person was acceptable and at what point did it become a violation? She didn't want to cross that line so she kept herself as distant from it as possible at all times.

She shook her head to clear the spiralling tangle of worries building up. She was almost home. The wind was starting to pick up, so she would be grateful to get in from the cold. She was coming up to the alleyway that always creeped her out as she passed. It was poorly lit, and a number of bins and dumpsters lined the walls. Anna always managed to convince herself she could see movement when it was dark. She knew it was just a trick of the mind, but that didn't stop her thoughts from running away with themselves.

The noise she heard, however, was definitely not her mind playing tricks. She heard the chattering of teeth, she thought. Shaky breaths. There was someone there, and the winter chill was affecting them a lot more than it was affecting Anna, with her fur coat and her alcohol-induced warmth. She turned her head to have a look.

Nothing there, as far as she could tell. But the noise had sounded close by. In a somewhat foolish move, she took a few steps into the dark alley. Her eyes darted around for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

But she could still hear the sound. 

"Hello?" She called out, listening carefully for a response.

Nothing.

"Is someone there?"

Nothing.

Okay, she was going to have to get a little bit more creative. So, she asked another question. Just a small one; just the slightest push.

"Could you come out, please?" It's only a gentle nudge she gave, then. She didn't push it, or lay it on too thick. She only urged the person—if there was anyone there at all—to show themselves. She didn't want to force them out, only to coax them, if they were willing.

And then, before her brain could even process it, there was someone standing directly in front of her. It wasn't like they had just appeared, or like they had suddenly moved in front of her in the blink of an eye. In fact, it was more like they had been there the entire time; she just hadn't realised. 

That made no sense. But, looking back, they had been there the whole time. How had she not noticed?

The person in question was a girl. A bit younger than Anna. She had her hair back in a high ponytail, and Anna could just make out the bright pink tips. Her eyes were wide, and a little frantic. She looked pale, and Anna could see her hands shaking from the cold.

"Are you okay?"

"I-" The girl took a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was brittle and tentative. "How did you do that?"

Anna thought carefully before she responded. She didn't want to scare the girl. "I only asked. And I could ask you the same question."

"I-I don't know how to make it stop." The girl's voice was panicked.

"How to make what stop?"

"I-I was scared, an-and then I just wasn't there, but I... I couldn't make it stop! How did you make it stop?" She was getting more and more worked up.

But Anna understood now. Another mutant. And she couldn't control her abilities; Anna had dealt with the same problem herself. 

"You're a mutant?" The question came out a little more blunt than Anna had intended.

"Y-yeah." She sounded worried now. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" Anna blurted. "No, no. _I'm_ a mutant. That's how I did it. I asked you, so you did it, it's what I do."

The girl looked perplexed at that, and her body language remained tense.

"I'm sorry, I- I don't like to do it, I just- I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise you." It was Anna's turn to panic.

"I- it's okay, I suppose." 

Anna didn't know what to say now. And then she took notice of how violently the girl was shaking.

"Do you need somewhere to stay? You look like you're freezing. I mean- you could crash on my couch if you'd like, or if you prefer I could try and get you a room in a hotel somewhere."

"You'd let me stay with you?" The girl sounded confused. "Why? You don't even know me."

"I don't have to." She reached a hand to lightly touch the girl's forehead. It was like ice. "Christ, you're _freezing._ I can't just let you stay out here overnight. You need a place to stay."

"I-really?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. And if you- have that issue again, let me know, and I'll do what I can."

The girl followed her out of the alleyway, and cautiously towards the apartment building. As they headed up towards the flat, Anna broke the silence between them.

"My name's Anna, by the way."

"I'm Katherine." The girl replied, her voice more confident now. "Kitty, actually."

Anna smiled at her. They reached the door, and Anna fumbled with her keys to unlock the door. She let Kitty know she could wait in the living room, and went to fetch some blankets from her cupboard. While she was there, she quickly changed into her pyjamas so the girl would have some space.

"Here." She handed Kitty a key. "You're right, we don't know each other. Take my room, if you don't feel safe, you can lock the door. I'll take the sofa. There's an en-suite as well, feel free to shower if you need."

Kitty looked completely bewildered. "But-I don't... Why?"

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

The girl hesitated for a moment, thinking about it. She answered simply.

"No."

"That's why."

Kitty seemed to accept her answer.

"There's some old t-shirts in the third drawer down, you could wear that if you need something to sleep in."

The small pink backpack the girl was carrying gave Anna the impression that she didn't have many possessions to her name. Tentatively, she made her way into Anna's room, and Anna could hear the girl shifting around quietly, as she set up her own bed for the night, neatly rearranging the couch cushions.

She hoped she'd done enough to make Kitty feel comfortable; she knew the girl would have to be fairly desperate to be going home with a stranger. She didn't want her to be afraid, but she understood it would be a perfectly reasonable response.

In the morning, they could discuss Kitty's abilities, and how she had ended up in that alley in the first place. And, if the girl wanted, Anna would try to help her learn to control it. She understood how terrifying it could be to have these new powers suddenly manifesting, and to not understand how to keep them in check. She couldn't help but wonder how long the girl had been isolated.

She settled into her makeshift bed, and heard the lock of her bedroom door click softly. She breathed a sigh of relief. She took no offence; she was a stranger, and it was more important that Kitty was safe than to preserve her pride.

Anna smiled to herself. The light escaping from under the bedroom door went out. She hoped Kitty would get a good night's sleep. She didn't think she could be getting much sleeping on the street. She'd call in sick to work tomorrow, and they could figure out what to do next. If Kitty needed, she would find her a shelter or somewhere similar to stay. Or, if she preferred, she could stay here as long as she needed, and Anna would try to help her learn to control her little issue.

She went to sleep with optimistic thoughts. Being able to actually make a difference in other people's lives helped her to feel like she might be worth something. And using her abilities to help alleviated the guilt of having them in the first place.

"Night," She called to the other girl. "Sleep tight."

And, like most times, she put a concentrated effort into her words. She held back the force inside her that strove to say 'obey'. She stifled it. She controlled it.

It wouldn't control her.


End file.
